Once I understood. My unplanned pregnancy, my husband and I’s lack to provide, first trimester difficulties, and the many big fears I held. I dreaded being pregnant, but this thing had a heart beat. It was living and I would never harm it intentionally. So time went on. My anxieties kept me awake. My hormones causing them to worsen. I started to understand why someone would abort. I was grateful I had made up my mind years ago on this matter because what would I have done? Then 20 weeks, it’s a girl. I didn’t want a girl. The world is painful for girls. Girls are hunted by predators, girls are seen as less than, no, not a girl. I understood. Then I felt her. She was strong. My hormones stabilized, my anxiety lessened as we planned. She was growing. I could see her now. She would respond to me. Kick my hands, wake up with me, react to my voice. She became mine. Then she decided to come into this world. Contractions came, then the hospital, the nerves and anxiety returned. I wasn’t ready. Water broke. Pain worsened, I wasn’t ready. Time to push, so much pressure. I wasn’t ready! Baby in distress, gotta get her out now! I wasn’t ready. Then, she screamed. A warm moving body was squirming on my abdomen. What is this? The world changed, the euphoria. I spoke to her, she calmed. She knew me. I knew her. The room was bright, but I could see nothing. My hands on her. On my chest, dark eyes, red skin, so small. She’s here, there really was a baby in there. Am I ready?

The weeks following, worry, tears. Love, fear, overwhelming. Sleep? No...never...sanity? Gone. Time passes. Gets easier. The foreign begins to feel normal. Now two months old. Smiling all the time, loves to play, cries when we leave the room, sleeps wonderfully, and is happy. I see how she looks at me. How her eyes study my face and smile when I speak. She needs me. I need her. I regret how I once understood because now I could never. I was always ready.